


Lightning Strikes and Mage Lights

by Saber_Sloth



Series: Aisling Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bullying, Doll Abuse, First Spell - People Die, First Spell - and it's just sparkly, Gen, Magical Awakening, Original Character Death(s), time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Sloth/pseuds/Saber_Sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the wine spills, a little girl cries her last.</p><p> </p><p>(When Aisling Hawke comes into her magic, it's not something that will ever bring a smile to her face. A ghost of a memory - arching lightning, and cooking flesh.)</p><p>(When Bethany Hawke comes into her magic, it's with squeals of delight and shimmering lights.)</p><p>(When both of his sisters have magic running through their veins, Carver Hawke fully expected them to ignore him in favor of magic lessons with father. Instead he's pleasantly surprised when <em>he's</em> the one his older sister look to for lessons.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Strikes and Mage Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Eyas is a term for a baby hawk.

—

 

The last time Aisling Hawke ever really remembered crying was also the first day she took a life.

She had gotten upset because Mikael-the village butcher's son-had taken her new doll. He was always doing things like that. Taking her things, pushing her into the mud. Pulling on her braids.

Normally she bit her lip, or turned away from him. Ignoring him, but this was her newest doll. Her father had just bought from a merchant traveling through the village, _-carved wood, painted face, soft green dress, hair the same curl and fire as hers-_ spending a whole silver for her fifth name day- _you don't turn five every day Eyas_ \- instead of making one form rough fabric, and straw as he had done in the past. Something easy to replace.

Every time her looked at her new doll it brought a smile to the girl's face, despite the grey clouds, raining as heavily as it had been for a week passed. Until Mikael stole her, calling both her and the doll names. Taking her doll away from her and toward his friends. Aisling started running after him, - this was her _newest, prettiest, bestest_ doll - mud caking her boots, clinging to her dress, spattering her legs as she chased after her poor doll.

When she caught up to the butcher's boy, he had ripped one of her doll's arms off. Aisling tried to pull it away from him, but that just made the second arm to rip. He laughed as he pushed her down in the mud, continuing his assault on the poor helpless doll. A group of the boys friends had gathered around her in a circle, taunting her as they laughed at her tears. The more she cried the worse their taunts became.

As she sat helpless in the muck, the children surrounding her closed in on her even more. Pulling her hair, splashing and kicking the mud at her. Aisling wasn't sure what they were planning, but they were all older and bigger than her. She was terrified, and hurt and there wasn't anyone around to help her. She prayed to the Maker that he would strike them with lightning, so she and her poor nameless doll could escape, and because they deserved it for scaring her and hurting her.

That's when it happened.

It had started with a warm, pleasant and almost tingling sensation flowing throughout her body. Like when her mama hugged her, or she when she tried the candied nuts papa gave her as a treat. She blinked, once, twice, then she kept her eyes closed and her mind suddenly cleared. The voices around her grew silent, everything calmed in an instant. In her mind she saw herself standing in a place that she saw in her dreams before. The scenery in those dreams often changed, but the way it felt was always the same, and she _knew_ she was in this place where she came to dream because she saw the one constant. The City. Black as midnight, with towers that came to a sharp looking point. It sat on a faraway hill, unchanging and always, always there.

Suddenly, the warm tingling moved from her body and toward her hands-her fingers. Aisling felt the inescapable need to get rid of the heat that was building in them. She gave a cry as she opened her tear-filled emerald-green eyes and flung her hands away from her, and towards her tormentors. Large streaks of blue, purple, and white energy struck the other children, and continued to strike them even after the energy left her hands, and didn't singe a single hair on the young girl's head. She just sat there in the mire, watching the scene unfold before her, the other children screaming and running in all directions, as the lightning chased after them.

When the last streak of the lightning tired, the little girl with deep auburn braids stood, shaking, trembling, and looked at the scorched and cracked ground that surrounded her, the storm amplifying the power of the lightning. Her tear stained emerald eyes wide with amazement...and fear.

A pile of ashes was all that remained of the doll that had been mutilated and tortured, having caught fire when the lightning stuck. That pile lay next to the charred corpse of the boy who had taken her doll—her _poorpoor_ doll whom she never named, would never name was just a princess in ashes—away from her.

Before Aisling knew what was happening, someone had scooped her up and was running with her over his shoulder. The girl knew her father by his scent and his long metal staff that was strapped to his back, clanking against the buckles on the back of her father's long coat. The little girl held on for dear life as he ran at full speed toward their home.

He shouted to her mother that they had to pack everything they could carry as quickly as possible and that she had to only gather the bare necessities. Saying something about templars and a circle that Aisling didn't understand.

Her father sat down on the floor of their small house and ran to help her mother pack. The whole scene scared and confused young Aisling and she began to cry once more. He father seeing her sobbing as he moved from the back room. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard enough send her braids flying.

"Buck up girl!" he almost shouted "No tears. A mage does not cry. Crying shows weakness and weakness makes you an easy target for the Templars."

"Y-Yes Papa," the girl sniffed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. She hadn't been paying much attention when her father had been telling her about templars before, but she knew that her father hated them. She also really didn't know what a mage was, but she was sure that her father just called her one.

He smiled at her, and patted her head, and cupping her cheek, his eyes softening and his voice filled with pride and worry. "That's my big strong, brave girl." He told her before running out the door.

Minutes later, he reappeared, looking frantic, and much older than Aisling had ever remembered. "Leandra, you carry Bethany and I'll take Carver." The twins by then began crying, awakened by the sudden movement, and loud noises as their mother picked them up them from where she had them napping. "The road is clear, but we need to get out of here now. Otherwise we may not get the chance to escape before the Chantry sends the Templars." His stern tone softened a bit as he addressed his oldest daughter. "You may have to run too keep up, Eyas. Do you think you can do it?"

Aisling raised her chin high in the air, and stiffened her body with her fists at her sides. Not unlike a soldier awaiting her commander's orders. Her voice was clear and brave. "Yes, Papa. I won't let you down. I promise." Whatever templars and mages were, they didn't matter to the young girl. The only thing that was important was earning the favor of the greatest man in the world...her father. Aisling didn't ever want him to see her as weak, She wanted him to see her as perfect as she saw him. She would be his big, strong girl and she would make him proud no matter what.

That day, the shaking girl-child hardened her heart as she chased after her father-her family as they fled the repercussions of the awakening of her devastating, and destructive magic.

 

—

 

Bethany stilled, enraptured by softly shimmering lights that her father was producing. In part to entertain his younger children, though mostly to provide examples, while alternating between soft encouragement and gentle chiding, of his eldest daughter in that day's lessons—trying to teach his oldest more Arcanum, how to read and speak the magical language. Which was unlike the more demonstrative and destructive lessons—in which he would have to take her out in the wilderness for a few days at a time— to make sure no one could see what he was teaching his eldest daughter.

It wasn't Bethany's girlish squeals of delight that drew Malcolm Hawke's attention away from his lesson with his eldest, thinking perhaps that it had just been her reacting to his rare display of magic in the home.

Nor had it been his eldest startled gasp and gaping face, it had been Carver's nearly frightened tone, calling for him, "Father!", that caused him to turn, heart beating and expecting the worst; a father's fears spiraling out of control in an instant.

Fearful of seeing Templar's intimidating form outside of his home, with the damning evidence of the mage-lights surrounding them; his wife-his children hurt, his heart stopped as he turned to see his sweet Bethany giggling and twirling as she was surrounded by her very own glittering lights.

A strained smile settled onto his strong features.

 

—

 

It was late, the stars had been twinkling and moonlight shone through the small window, and Aisling Hawke couldn't sleep, her sister was a mage! Just as she is! And just like father! Only her mother and her stupid, smelly, brother Carver didn't have magic, but maybe Carver would get magic later, maybe he was being nice and wanted Bethany to be special for today and tomorrow or tomorrow's tomorrow he'd show his own magic, so that they all could be magic toget-

Aisling's exited thoughts stopped when she heard her father's heavy footfalls, and her mother's lighter steps, coming from the room next to the one her and her siblings shared, though there was a curtain separating her and her sister's side of the room from their brother's.

Getting out from under the covers Aisling tiptoed over to the door intent on demanding another bedtime story from her father, perhaps that would help her sleep. A tale perhaps of a dashing, daring, charming mage saving his lady love from the shackles of an arranged marriage. It was really romantic, it was one of her favorites. Aisling thought that it was her mother's and father's favorites as well. They always seemed to smile a lot at each other when father told that one.

Only to pause as she heard her father's muffled voice, turning and slowly walking toward the far wall she pressed her ear to wall connecting the two rooms. She really didn't want to open the door to see her mother and father trying to make more babies again. The last time she had seen that she ended up with stupid, smelly, Carver, and her wonderful magic sister...so maybe if they were being gross together she would get more wonderfully mag-

"Maker," he sighed "Why them? Why our sweet precious girls? They do not deserve to be cursed like this, with magic," Aisling's eyes widened as her hand covered her mouth. "I never wanted my magic to be given to any of my children, this bur-" his voice cutting off as he moved from the wall that connected his room to his children's.

"Malcolm, the Maker has a plan for all of his children. I need to believe in that, otherwise..." her voice grew quiet as she walked further away from the wall to comfort her husband, who took the blame upon himself, instead of cursing her own magic infused bloodline.

Blinking in stunned disbelief, Aisling turned backing away from the wall until her legs hit the bed, shaking she fell to the floor. She buried her face in knees. "Oh Maker, I take it back!" she whispered desperately, "Please don't let Carver be a mage," she prayed her voice muffled by her knees, "Please Maker let him be normal, as father wants...as mother wishes, and please let him not be a disappointment as we turned out to be." Her small heart breaking, she now knew that he father couldn't, wouldn't...and shouldn't love her or Bethany as much as he loved Carver, if only he never had any of this cursed magic.

She lifted her head, dull, dry eyes stared at the accursed wall, she absently wondered if her parents knew how thin the walls were...how their voices carried when they stood near it. Of course they knew...if her and her brother and sister found out and played whisper games, her parents must know as well.

Maybe...maybe they wanted her to know...they had to know she wasn't asleep. That she couldn't sleep knowing that her sister was going to be a part of her and father's magic lessons, and trips. That it was too exciting. She was sure that if Bethany was used to the magic flowing through her she wouldn't have slipped into sleep as easily as she had. They wanted her to know this…

That was the night more of the fire burning in a young girl died.

That night a seed of doubt, disgust, and hate was planted. Though, no one, not even young Aisling knew that. No one knew that events of her life, tended to it, until it was a blooming flower, grown from innocence lost.

That night Aisling Hawke learned to hate herself. Hate her sister. And her magic a great deal more.

 

—

 

The days following the whispered conversation in the dark, Aisling would attend her lessons with her father. Her sister bright eyed and smiling, happy to finally be able to join in these very important grownup lessens, though these would be things that Aisling had learned years ago. Her father seeing her boredom would tell her to go and play. This led her to her brother swinging a long stick-practicing his sword fighting. Something one of the older boys in the village had learned from their older brother, who had gone away to serve in the army.

"C-Carver?" Aisling hesitated, "Can you teach me how to-to do _that_?" She asked pointing to his stick.

Her brother stopped swing the stick "You want to swing a sword?" He asked, looking at her with his mouth open, "Wh-why would you want to do that?"

The girl bit her lip "Learning to fight with magic....it's not that special," she replied. "I mean father, Bethany and I have it. It can't be all that special if we all have it. What's really amazing is fighting without magic. You need to skilled and strong, and smart to do that...its _nothing_ like magic..." she whispered.

"You think that this-" her brother swung the stick back and forth, "is more amazing than shooting a fireball, or ice, or...or lightning-?" Aisling flinched as the image of the charred corpse of the butcher's son flashed in her mind's eye. Aisling knew she would never be able to use destructive magic the same way ever again.

"Yes." she answered honestly cutting him off, looking her younger (more wonderful, more loved) brother straight in the eye.

And that was that.

 

—

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm just playing in the sandbox, I don't own Dragon Age. 
> 
>  
> 
> And please tell me if I have any errors. I just ran this through a spell check.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! Reviews make my day! ♡♡
> 
> After a lot of back and forth in my own head, I decided to place the two parts into one. Hope it works better.


End file.
